St. Patrick’s Day: parades and chip vans

Last updated: 09/03/2015 11:53 by DaisyWilson to DaisyWilson's Blog
Filed under: MummyBloggers
St Patrick’s Day tradition demands that we plant potatoes, wear green and go to a parade.  Every year, when the parade is finally over, I vow never again.
 
But the call of the parade is like a siren song and every year the vow is forgotten.
 
Of all the parades down the years a few are stand outs. The parade where my eldest was obliged by  her school to participate, where we adults delighted in waving and taking pictures, and she swore that she would never again take part in something so painfully slow moving and dull. She kept that vow.
 
The first St Patrick’s Day parade I remember going to was at a town that’s actually a shop with a road going by it. The parade consisted of a tractor, a donkey and a rusty car that may or may not have been considered vintage. But there was also a chip van so we kids thought it a great day out.
 
Another favourite occurred during my college years, while visiting a friend’s home town of Drogheda. The day was a rare thing – warm and sunny – and after the mandatory delay the parade started.
 
An old-fashioned double decker bus started slowly up the main street, crammed with kids, their red sweaty faces pressed against the sealed windows. We thought they might be mouthing the word ‘water,’ and before we could be certain, some grump rang in a bomb threat. The parade was efficiently disbanded and the street evacuated.
 
We followed the chip van and queued up with everyone else.
 
Those were my two favourite parades, combining the beauty of brevity with the piping hot joy of chip van chips.
 
So in keeping with tradition, we will pile, once more, into the car, fight for parking and watch the sky nervously in case the intermittent spatter of rain turns more organised. There will probably be a chill wind. We will stand alongside half the town’s population to watch the other half of town walk up the street. I will listen for the growl of generators and locate the nearest chip van.
 
I’ll say never again.
 
I’ll be there next year.
 
Daisy Wilson is a freelance writer who lives and works in West Cork. Mum to an almost-teenager and a toddler who is striding through the terrible twos with a glint in her eye, life is noisy, fun and covered in fingerprint marks.
 
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